Kick in the Stomach, Slap in the Face
by Good Day Sunshine
Summary: Last. She was LAST. Oooh, and it was all his fault. Just why in the world was he so dense? AnnxCliff Rated T, for some cursing.


Rated T for slight cursing and alcohol references? I donno....

**THIS WAS WRITTEN DURING A HORRIBLE WRITER'S BLOCK, SO IT'S NOT THE BEST. And also, I don't know much about these characters....**

1,198 words, written in 2 hours

I do not own, and never will own Harvest Moon or its characters.

This one here's dedicated to _**Miss Rouge Apple**_.

* * *

She couldn't believe this. This couldn't be happening. No, no,_ no_. She couldn't believe she only thought of this _now,_ while sitting in the back of a kitchen on a carton of wine in a corner, poking at the long legs of an almost dead spider.

Last.

Last.

_LAST!_

Last in what, you ask? Last in....last in _getting married_!

_Oh_, you heard what she said. It's not like she was shallow...it was more of something that was expected of her. Little Ann, always thought to be married right after Popuri ran out of her big brother's clutches, always thought to be the youngest to get married and pop out a few babies a month after that....

Last!

Oh, even Claire got married before her! It wasn't that Claire wasn't her friend...in fact, Claire was her best friend..._but_..

Claire was a space cadet.

No, that was a total understatement.

Claire was an alien princess from another planet and she was telported here on a secret galactic mission to save the universe from being taken over from Rick's chickens and Kai's secret legion of fish-dog people.

Or that's what Claire told Ann.

No hard feelings for Claire, but...How in the world did she get married to the _doctor _of all people?

Yep, the doctor.

The '_No-thank-you-Ann-I-would-not-like-to-engage-in-your-drinking-games-with-Karen-and-others-blah-blah-blah-insert-killjoy-comment-here-blah_.' Doctor. The alien princess and the stick-forever-up-the-ass doctor. Such, a strange, strange, couple. They got married last year, with Ann as Claire's maid-of-honor.

Still, Ann thought she had a chance. After all, there was still Elli single. But nooo, just a few weeks after the wedding Claire's cousin Jack from Forget-Me-Not valley had to come and sweep Elli's romantic heart off her little nurse shoe feet and out of her frilly-nilly Elli dress.

And now she was last.

Ooh, and it was all _his_ fault.

Who's fault, you ask?

Him. Him, him, him! Cliff. Why in the world did it have to be him!

_That's cause you like him_, her mind argued. Oh, of course she liked him! She's stll waiting for him even after Kai asked her to run off with him to a sunnier and more lively place...

_Cliff, that was the problem,_ she mused as she sat, fiddling with the tag attached to the carton of wine.

It wasn't that Cliff was not a nice guy.

It wasn't that he was shy and freaked out from a drop of a feather.

It wasn't that he was dirt poor and probably lived off of fallen grapes from Duke's winery.

It was, however, the fact that Cliff was oblivious.

_Once again, an understatment by yours truly, Ann._

Cliff wasn't just oblivious....Well, he needed you to hire five thugs to beat the shit out of him and several zaps with a tazer before he could see a fuzzy picture of what was going on. Cliff needed you to write a picture book so he could understand the meaning of your words. And when you try to shake the sense into him, he just gave you the 'my-puppy-got-ran-over-by-a-car' look. Cliff was just so...agh!

Why in the world was he so..._dense_?

Claire had told her it was okay, 'cause all boys were are dumbasses when it came to girls and stuff, and they really don't know anything until you give him a nice kick in the stomach and a good slap in the face.

But what would someone from a different universe know?

Ann laughs. _More than me, I guess._ She sighs and thinks about how long she's been going for his affections...Three years? Two and a half? Well, way too long for her short interest of things.

And today was a great day for him to close the door on Ann's epic journey for love.

Duke had asked them if they were together. Cliff just stared dumbly at Duke with wide eyes. Ann goes pink, but the idea is in her head. _Twenty seconds. I'll give him twenty seconds_, Ann thought.

The earth turned. The floorboards creaked. The sound of breathing is heard. You probably could've heard two bunny rabbits getting it on.

......Twenty seconds. No reply or answer from Cliff.

She then responded with a quick answer; stating that nothing was happening and dashed out the room, almost crashing into Claire, who was just an innocent bystander to the whole mess.

She must've looked like a fool.

Ann sighs, and leans up against the wall. _What should I tell him now? It's going to be sooo awkward and he's going to have the run-over-puppy look on his face and everyone knows I can't resist that look..._

"Ann!"

Speak of the dolt.

Cliff throws the door open and mini-sprints (the kitchen's not that big, ya know) across to her.

"I- I have something for you."

But like always, Ann's one step ahead of him and already sees the bright blue tuft sticking out of his hands. She lets him continue anyways.

"I-I r-really, really l-lo-like you and Carter g-gave me a b-blue feather a-awhile back a-and I was j-just t-th-i-inkin'...." he paused for a lifetime. Cliff cleared his throat.

"Will you marry me?" Cliff's face was now the color of the sun: blazing red. He sticks out the blue feather in his hand, now wet from his sweat.

Ann doesn't respond.

Cliff's hopeful eyes have now fallen, been stomped on, put in a blender, and fed to dogs. He gives the 'someone-just-ran-over-my-puppy' look once again. Cliff's shoulders sag down and he looks like he's just about to burst out into tears like the sky in April.

Ann smiles.

Ran-over-puppy look, cute stutter, red cheeks, little pout...

How could she resist?

"Sure."

* * *

I hope you like it...And that she enjoys it. I think it's not the best though. Like, I could've done better? You know what I mean?

Review and Feedback would be greatly appreciated.


End file.
